


Expel Your Sins

by To_Shiki



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (i think), Aziraphale is just enough of a bastard, Crowley tries so hard, Dark!Aziraphale, Dom/sub, Domestic Discipline, Enemas, Good Omens Kink Meme, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, No btea we die lkie emn, Praise Kink, Surprise! - Freeform, Unhealthy Relationships, yeah prolly is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 21:36:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20216662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/To_Shiki/pseuds/To_Shiki
Summary: Crowley's learning how to be better.  Sometimes it takes an angel to discipline a demon.OP wanted Crowley and holy water enema.  So have Crowley with a holy water (diluted, of course) enema.





	Expel Your Sins

Crowley stared, eyes widening in horror, pupils nothing more than thin slits lost in golden yellow. Opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, no words pass his lips. Not yet. Not until his angel speaks.

“To the bathroom.”

“Angel,” comes the soft, choked plea. “Angel, angel, I’m sorry. It was an accid-”

“Anthony. Bathroom. __Now.”__

Whole body shaking from tremors, Crowley does as he’s told. Down goes the steaming cup of tea, a third of its content’s missing. Back straight and hands clenched he shuffles down the hallway. Behind him, he can hear his angel sigh before standing. A sharp snap of fingers miracling away the mess he’d made.

Inside the bathroom he gathers all the supplies from under the sink. Aziraphale was adamant that he do so as part of his punishment. Gallon sized container, long thin hose, nozzle. The last item Aziraphale would provide, as was necessary.

Container is hooked directly under the shower head. Hose with its valve screwed into the bottom. Nozzle doubling as a butt plug attached to the opposite end.

As he waited on his angel to arrive he slowly undressed. Each article of clothing was neatly folded and placed on the floor between toilet and shower floor. Exactly like his angel taught him. 

He took a bracing breath and knelt down onto the cold tile floor. On hands and knees the only Efforts he makes are a stomach, digestive track, and a tight asshole. Nothing else is allowed to distract either of them from the discipline. All which formed right as his angel walked into the small, sterile room.

With the last item required for his punishment. He could feel the holiness of it vibrating all around him. The clinking as glass was set onto marble countertop had him flinching involuntarily. Tears started welling up in his eyes as the angel’s shadow fell over his exposed back.

“Look at me, my dear.” When Crowley raises his eyes, Aziraphale asks, “Why are we in here?”

Crowley swallows convulsively. “Because… because I __accidentally__ spilled your tea.” Pleading and begging never got him out of this, but it was worth a shot. A single tear makes its way down his cheek.

“__Just__ because of some spilled liquid?” One dark eyebrow raises questioningly.

More tears trailing down sharp cheekbones. “Noooo.” The prone demon can’t help the little sniffle that follows. “Spilled it on your book.” His angel’s face remained stern, yet his eyes softened a smidgen.

“Very good, darling. So, what must we do about your -sinful- behavior?” 

Yellow eyes full of fear look up to the sink. To the little innocent vial sitting there. Waiting to be opened. “I- I have to b-be cleansssed. Have-have all the sin flushed out of me.” The words clog his throat several times. His angel is patient, though. His angel is patient and forgiving and doing all this for his own good.

Crowley always did make for a terrible demon. Maybe with enough love and discipline from Aziraphale he could at least become human if not an angel again.

A pleased sigh comes from above him. “That’s right. We need to clean you out so something like this doesn’t happen again.” The shadow moves closer, slightly bending over him. Soft hands pry his cheeks apart, exposing his hole. “Perfect. See, my dear boy, you’re learning!” comes the light praise as one hand leaves his ass. The other keeps his cheeks spread.

A wince and hiss of pain comes shortly after. Aziraphale doesn’t stretch Crowley’s hole or lube up the plug. He pushes unwaveringly, thrusting it in with one smooth stroke. It pops in quickly as the flared head passes the clenching ring of muscle. Firmly in place, the angel gives his demon a gentle pat on his ass before moving his hands up the length of hose.

A handful of seconds pass as Aziraphale checks over everything. Once sure that it’s all in working order he turns on the water. The roar of water hitting plastic has Crowley tensing, muscles tight and lungs squeezing all the air out in a silent cry. He can __feel__ the hose bouncing back and forth as water rushes down. His asshole constricts uselessly against the unyielding plastic.

Nothing.

The valve is closed, preventing any water from going further than halfway. Deep, unsteady, __unnecessary__ gulps of air fill Crowley’s lungs as he braces himself for the pain. He squeezes his eyes closed so hard he sees flashes of light.

A soothing voice floats down from above. “Why are we in here, my darling?”

“Because I was bad.” It’s nothing more than a scratchy whisper. Knowing that it wouldn’t be approved of, he clears his throat and repeats it louder.

“Yes, you were. __How__ were you bad?” Hose wiggles faintly as a hand grabs the lever alongside the valve.

Black painted nails claw uselessly against white tile. No point in adding to his punishment. “I spilled yoUR TE-” He cuts off abruptly and whines low in his throat. Stale air from the hose passes through him and leaves with a foul-tasting belch. Cold water floods his insides quickly, forcing its way deeper and deeper. Muscles clench and twist in shock and pain.

Just as suddenly the flow ebbs. “What was that, dear? I couldn’t hear you.” He waits for Crowley to speak again, twisting the valve as soon as he opened his mouth. 

Each time Crowley paused or cut off, so too was the water. Each time he gets another cupful of water deposited into his bowels. When the container was half empty, Aziraphale walks over to the counter.

“You’re doing so well taking your punishment, my boy. What comes next?”

The question is answered through tears and cramping. “N-Next isssss… is the hooooly water.” Crowley’s head hands low between his shoulders, red hair damp with sweat. Opening his eyes reveals a modest swell rounding out his belly. Thighs and arms shake as Aziraphale’s footsteps come back.

“Indeed.” Cork slipping free of glass echoes in the room. The demon below him starts shaking even hard as the holy water’s essence permeates the air. Goosebumps cover his exposed skin. “And __how much__ holy water should I add?”

Tears and snot run freely down his face now. Air rushes in and out of overworked lungs too quickly. Toes curl and hands clench into white knuckled fists. ‘He can’t- He can’t do it! My angel loves me too much! It was an __accident__. I didn’t mean to!’

A gentle hand grabs a fistful of hair and slowly pulls his head up. Crowley doesn’t even realize he’s been babbling out loud until he’s silenced with a chaste kiss. “None of that, love. Of course I love you. There’s no doubt of that. __That’s why I do this.__ I love you and I want you to be better. Don’t you want to be better for me?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yesyesyes-”

“Then tell me how much to add.”

Crowley can’t see clearly, can’t see the expression on his angel’s face. He can hear the love in it. Feels the love mingling with holy water in the air. He can do this. He can do it for his angel. “As much as I-I ssssspilled, angel.”

Aziraphale nods in approval. “One more time, dear. Without the stuttering and hissing, please.” The hand holding his head up slides down to his chin. “Be a good boy for me.”

Neck stretched out and twisted forces him to look at his angel. “As much as I spilled, angel.” He breathes deep and closes his eyes in acceptance. The cramps from the cold water has died down, body having warmed it up and readying itself for worse.

So much spilled on the book. __So much! __If his angel adds the same amount…

“That’s correct. Normally I would put in as much as had been lost. Seeing as it was nearly a third of the cup, and that would undoubtedly cause you severe injuries…” The angel pauses for effect. Everything his does is to help his demon learn to improve himself. “Since it was a third I will add three drops of holy water.”

Crowley full-body sags in relief. The only thing keeping him up is Aziraphale’s hand under his chin. Eyes flutter shut in joy - he’s taken three drops before. It’s not pleasant by any means, but it’s not horrible either. “Thank you, angel,” he breathes against the wrist close to his mouth. “Thank you.”

“For what, darling?” Aziraphale asks (like he doesn't know) as he pulls away. Raising the hand holding the vial, he lets each drop fall into the container several seconds apart. Each drip vibrates the container as it mixes into the tap water. Each drip causes Crowley to shudder and pant in anticipation below him.

Giving the container a good shake to help stir it all together, Aziraphale rhetorically asks, “Are you ready, my pet?” Whether he’s ready or not the second half’s going in.

Crowley nods quickly.

Diluted holy water streams into his ass faster than he can brace for. No matter how watered down it is, as soon as it brushes against his insides they’re aflame. Minor tingling shifts to sunburned hot in the time it takes him to suck in a gasp.

More and more water pours in, distending his belly further and further. His back bows from the weight of it, hips aching from the pressure. Hands and knees cry out for him to shift, to let up just a little to relieve the pain from being on them too long.

More and more water pours in, shower running fast and cold to help wash it all in. It overflows into his stomach, stretching his skin out almost to the floor. Crowley cries out silently to the uncaring tiles below him.

An eternity passes before the water’s turned off. Distantly he hears Aziraphale crouch down beside him. A large warm hand rubs lovingly against his lower back. Another goes to his rounded belly, rubbing soothing circles into the thinned skin.

“Oh, Crowley,” the angel coos. “You’ve done so well so far. Look at how well you’ve taken this part of your discipline!” Both hands leave him, drawing a low whine. “None of that now, dear. It’s time for the second part. Which is?”

The answer comes quickly, despite the burn. “I have to hold it.” Hands come back, pulling his ass cheeks apart again. Thumb and forefinger pinch at the nozzle lodged in deep. “I can’t let ouuuut a single drop until you finish reading.” His word is dragged out along with the nozzle. His rim is red and irritated from the liquid clinging to the plastic. Regardless he clenches down as tight as he can. This is why he’d given himself such a tiny hole. 

He’d learned the hard way what happens if he empties his bowels before being allowed.

“That’s right: you have to hold everything in until I’m finished. Excellent job!” Footsteps fade away as Aziraphale goes back into the living room to fetch his book. Usually he’d have a waterlogged Crowley do it. But he may have added more water than normal to the punishment.

As Aziraphale settles on the toilet lid, the cramps set in as well. Breathing shallowly, Crowley tries clenching and relaxing his abdominal muscles. A few close calls leaving him panting in fear when he relaxes too many muscles. Everything narrows down to his asshole - keeping it nice and shut - and the cramps shaking his thin frame.

Face down, body aches and stomach gurgles. He can’t remember where his angel was in his book. Was he at the beginning? The middle? Almost to the end? __Where?__ Another cramp, below the navel has him shuddering. All his concentration goes to him, to deep inside. Not enough can be spared to look up and find out where in the book Aziraphale is.

Breathe in, clench, breath out, clench. Twitch. Breath in, clench, breathe out, clench. Flex. Breath in, clench, breath out, cle-

Book snapping shut jolts Crowley out of the focused mindset. For a heart-wrenching second his ass muscles relax too much. Chest heaving he clenches up again. Tears make a reappearance as he feels a single drop trickle down.

His angel doesn’t notice. Too busy putting his precious book out of harm’s way. Turning around, Aziraphale says nothing to the tear tracks or the fine tremors. Instead he gives Crowley his instructions.

He feels like a dog; kneel, waaait, wait, release. But __oh__! Finally relaxing, expelling all the diluted holy water! His asshole __burns__ as it rushes out, splattering against his ankles and feet towards the drain. Tiny pinpricks in comparison. Tightening his grip on his thighs he fails to stifle a groan of relief. Gradually his stomach deflates back to its original almost concave curve.

Chest heaving, pulling in ragged breaths, he manages a weak, “Thank you, angel.” He crawls over on hands and knees to Aziraphale and his outstretched hand. His legs shake as he raises himself up onto his knees. Relief floods through him as he nuzzles into the waiting hand.

Those soft fingers and broad palm cradle his cheek lovingly. He can’t help but place a reverent kiss to the body-warmed pinky ring. Aziraphale’s other hand joins, gently wiping away tears still spilling from half-lidded eyes. 

“I’m so proud of you, Crowley. You took your punishment so well for me.” More tears are wiped away. The angel smiles down upon his demon almost blindingly from all the love and happiness he has for him. “How do you feel?”

“I- I- feel… clean. I want to thank you for purifying me. I __can__, if you wish…” Crowley’s quick to correct himself when the smile dims. He wants to please his angel, be good for his angel. Instead of saying anything he nudges first his nose then his lips against the front of his angel’s slacks. There was nothing underneath, as Aziraphale preferred, but that could change instantly when the need arose.

The affectionate move brought a chuckle from above. “None of that now, my love.” Gently Crowley’s face is pushed back so they can stare each of in the eye. “Maybe later. When I know you’re not so full of wickedness. After you’ve tried bringing me tea again. This time without spilling it, hmm? Up with you now. Let’s give it another go.”

Aziraphale backs up and gives Crowley the room to stand. He hovers nearby, face carefully neutral as trembling legs support Crowley’s full weight once more. Knobby knees are flushed red from the pressure of being on them for so long. Around his stomach hangs quite a bit of loose skin, wrinkled and sagging. Still so stretched out from the cleansing.

Aziraphale finds he quite likes the look. Can’t help stopping Crowley as he bends down to gather his clothing. “I think it’d be better if you’d just stay bare, my dear. Just in case.” A simmering spark of lust came to life at the thought. Of having his Crowley on his hands and knees once more, stomach distended even further from a second offense. Maybe even adding a few more drops of holy water to the mix to get him really worked up.

Obediently Crowley left his clothes on the cold floor. Time is allowed for drying everything off and returning to their rightful places. His angel took the lead out of the bathroom, heading back into their quaint living room. Intestines and bowels burned and tingled as he made his own way into the kitchen. Cool air danced along his exposed skin, doing little to relieve the internal heat.

His hands shook as he refilled the kettle. He couldn’t help it. The hiss of water from the faucet, echoing against the metal inside renewed the sensation of being filled. Enough water for two cups (in case of a refill being desired) and he harshly turned it off.

Several minutes spent staring at the ornate kettle as water heated to a boil on the gas stove. Loose leaves scooped in, a soothing nighttime tea to help his angel unwind from a long day. Four minutes set on the little kitchen timer shaped like a cartoon chef.

Each second that ticked by loudly in the quiet room was spent running his hands up and down the loose folds of his stomach, fingering at his inflamed hole. When the timer went off, tea was poured into a different teacup, matching saucer underneath. Shuffling bare foot to the living room, Crowley kept up the mental chant, ‘Don’t spill, don’t spill, don’t spill.’ In his hands, fine porcelain clinked against each other.

The trip to the living was completed without incident. Just standing in the entryway he could feel the love and devotion his angel felt for him washing over him. However, he noticed that the closer he got to his angel the stronger his hands shook.

Steaming liquid sloshes dangerously close to the lip of the cup.

So focused on the tea and teacup and putting one foot in front of the other, he doesn’t hear the quiet snap of fingers. The renewed burning along his insides __are__ noticed. Sharp and overwhelming in their suddenness, in fact.

He’s panting and shaking and- and-

“Oh, Crowley. Again?”

And Crowley can only stare on in dread. Stare through renewed tears at the five drops of tea splattered against his angel’s otherwise immaculate slacks.

“It seems we didn’t clean you out completely, I see.” Aziraphale stood and placed his hand against Crowley’s stomach, a small miracle performed to shrink the skin back into shape. “Well,” he sighs, “back to the bathroom, darling.” A firm nudge backwards and the two return the bathroom.

Maybe this time he should add his own ‘holy essence’ to the mix. At the mere thought of it, the front of the angel’s slacks fill out quite graciously. Having his emission mix with the holy water within is guaranteed to purify his demon from the inside out.

**Author's Note:**

> Adding this here: Please don't leave personal information like emails in the comments. Good or bad, I don't want other people spamming them. I will add new tags to address what was brought up in the person's comment.


End file.
